Your Call Could Not Be Connected
by ring of rubies
Summary: Please Check the Name and Try Again Hermione Granger had taken to screening her floo calls. And it was all Draco bloody Malfoy’s fault… But sometimes even mistakes have happy endings. Two Shot Contains nudity. Easily offended should cover their eyes
1. Connections

**Your Call Could not be Connected**

* * *

Hermione Granger had taken to screening her Floo calls.

It was a relatively simple practice: avoid the fireplace at all times.

And, if circumstance demanded that she be in the same room, there was always some large piece of furniture she could hide behind.

Hermione Granger, the big brave Gryffindor who had survived the War, legions of Death Eaters, countless exams and a heavier class schedule than ever thought humanly possible, was reduced to cowering before an inanimate object – one that didn't even have a piece of Voldemort's soul trapped inside.

And it was all Draco _bloody _Malfoy's fault…

* * *

Hermione had once been a morning person. She could wake up with the dawn, bright-eyed and alert. It wasn't altogether clear to her what had happened to change that, just that it had changed. Whether it had been the regular midnight prowling with Harry and Ron, general teenage 'growing up' lethargy or the absence of early morning cartoon shows at Hogwarts, she had left the Wizarding school completely reliant on alarm clocks. Maybe it was just that she never really seemed able to just shut her brain down and go to sleep, even when she was lying in bed at night, eyes heavy and body tired. Perhaps she was just catching up on all that missed sleep many years after the fact. Whatever the reason, these days Hermione had to hit the snooze button at least three times before she woke up feeling groggy and thick, no matter how many hours sleep she had had. There was very little she could do to wake herself up; breakfast didn't work, coffee didn't work, aromatherapy didn't work, potions felt like cheating. Hermione Granger, one of the sharpest minds to attend Hogwarts, was now practically incapable of thought until she stumbled into a very long, very hot shower or 11 am, whichever came first.

On the morning in question, she had just emerged out of one of said showers. It had taken close to half an hour, but Hermione was finally awake enough to face the world on the other side of the shower curtain. Instead of vigorously drying off like she normally would, Hermione stood, stark naked and dripping wet, and looked around her bathroom in a moment of confusion.

There were no towels.

No hand towel, nor even a small face cloth.

Hermione cursed her bad case of morning brain and haphazard cleaning habits. Not for too long though because, although steam still curled around the ceiling, her hair was stuck wetly to the back of her neck and the water droplets beading her body had begun to cool. By the time she poked her head through her living room door to see if the blinds were drawn, Hermione's body was wracked by fine shivers, her skin was coming out in gooseflesh and she was cursing to the fact that her linen cupboard, and the nice fluffy warm towels within, was on the other side of her flat.

Multi-tasking had always made Hermione feel better.

Tiptoeing through the room so as to leave as few wet footprints on the floor as possible, she had almost made it to the other side when her attention was caught by a small noise. It couldn't have been louder than a muffled exclamation or a small cough - but there was no one else in her flat to make even that small noise. That realisation froze Hermione in her tracks.

"Granger?!"

A chill swept over her that had nothing to do with the temperature... Hermione recognised that voice, but she had never thought she would hear it within her own home. She could connect it to a face and a name in her mind, but had no idea where in her home the voice had come from.

"Granger, you're... naked."

And she was naked...

Hermione had been living alone for five years now, but (she blamed the shared dorm rooms at Hogwarts) even in her own home she had never felt comfortable to undress outside of her bathroom or bedroom. What if there was an emergency? She felt it was best to be prepared for almost any eventuality and, for Hermione, preparation usually included clothing. She couldn't even think of a time when she had been naked in her lounge room, kitchen or study before today (there was that one time in the laundry, though). So why, of all days, did she have to forget a towel _**today**_?

The better question to ask was probably "_Why did Draco Malfoy choose **today** of all daysto break and enter_?"

She cast a wide-eyed glance around the room, completely mindless to the water that dripped from her hair and soaked into the rug. She couldn't see him anywhere, but he could obviously see her; that was dangerous in itself, even without factoring in the other embarrassing issue. Factoring in her nudity, it was even more dangerous - it was very obvious Hermione didn't have her wand with her.

"Where are you and what are you doing here, Malfoy?" Her voice sounded infinitely calmer than she felt.

"I have to admit the being here wasn't entirely intentional… but far be it from me to complain."

It was really quite disconcerting that she didn't know which end to try to cover up, or where she could hide from his gaze. And she was positive that he _was _looking at her; there was some self-satisfied tone to his voice that told her – from wherever he had hidden himself in the room – he was looking his fill.

"I'm not joking around here," her pretence of calm was beginning to crack. "Where are you? Show yourself!"

"You really don't know? From the look of things I'd say you were rather excited to see me."

"That's just the point! I _can't _see you - and..." If that was in reference to what she thought it was, it meant he could see her front. "It's cold, you pervert!"

For just a moment, Hermione's indignation had overpowered her embarrassment. A second later, the embarrassment returned with full-force and her hands moved very quickly to cover strategic areas. It was almost a wasted effort, considering how little of her overall body she could actually cover with just her forearms and hands. For the first time, Hermione saw the fatal flaw with minimalist decoration – what she wouldn't give for a big vase to hide behind or a throw rug to wrap herself up in.

The still-hidden voice heaved an affected sigh, "I much preferred it before. You have quite exquisite-"

"YES! Indeed. None of which goes anywhere to answering my question."

"Well, I'm not feeling very cooperative right now," he replied petulantly. "It was rather mean of you to pull the shutters on my lovely view."

"This is an invasion of privacy! I could have the Aurors here in a second. Breaking and entering, trespassing–"

"No," he stated matter-of-factly. "It isn't."

"You're in _my_ house!"

"Not technically."

"Do you want me to call the Aurors and then we can debate points of law with the experts?"

"Well, any extra visitors would probably lead to your getting dressed and I can't say that I would _like _that..." There was an altogether too smug tone to his voice. "What I _would _like to know how you propose to contact them, considering you're without a wand and I'm taking up your Floo."

Which pretty much solved her 'where is he?' problem.

She could see his face, lit up in an intense glow, in her fire grate. His smile was too wide to be termed a smirk, his gaze too direct to be a leer but whatever his expression, it wasn't particularly polite.

Luckily enough, the knowledge that he was in the Floo system rather than her living room also answered the 'how much can he see?' question. The answer being, 'not much, if I hide behind the lounge'. Which is what she did.

Only her head, and possibly the top of her shoulder, was visible as she poked her head over the back of the lounge chair.

"You really shouldn't do that, Granger. 'Couch' isn't a good look for you. It only draws attention to your hair – emphasising the bird's nest sitting atop your head."

"Go away!"

"You know, I could share some hair-styling tips with you. But I don't want to shout across the room... come over to the fire and I'll whisper them to you."

"Get OUT!"

"As you wish."

Not that Hermione would ever complain about his absence, but she really had expected Draco Malfoy to put up more of an argument than that. So, it wasn't disappointment she felt when his face started to faded out of the Floo, but relieved surprise. Maybe he had had just run out of sly comments.

She came out from behind the couch slowly, inching around the side before she stood up, almost waiting for a thousand other nasty surprises to rear their heads. When nothing happened for a good few moments, no explosions or attacks by flying monkey, Hermione sank down onto the couch. She was pretty much dry as it was and would warm up in front of the fire in no time at all.

_Well, that had been __particularly mortifying…_

Apparently one unpleasant experience wasn't enough to appease whatever vindictive deity was in charge of shame and embarrassment that morning…

A smiling face popped up in her fireplace again, "Took me ages trying to get it to work a second time round!

Her outraged shriek only partly covered his wolf whistle.

"That's a brilliant shade of red, Granger... I didn't even know you could blush there."

* * *

Wrong floo calls were common enough in the Wizarding world… the caller accidentally inhaled Floo Powder and coughed out a mangled name, someone called something out over their shoulder that got picked up by the system, or it was just a particularly busy day and a couple of chimneys got crossed. Most of the time it was a stranger that answered and it was just a case of apologising and placing another call.

Unfortunately for Hermione it was a case of wrong place, wrong time, and wrong choice. And definitely wrong person on that other end…

Couldn't it have been someone who was actually connected to her home floo? _Anyone_ else?

If it had been Ginny or Mrs. Weasley or any of her female friends... Sure, it would have been awkward, but they could have had a laugh about it afterwards. In any case, all women had everything in pretty much the same place, excepting a few scars or the extra curve here and there.

Any of the Gryffindor boys would have been preferable. Harry catching her naked would be still more awkward than any of the girls, and he probably wouldn't be able to look her in the eye without blushing for a good month or so... but they would both survive They had faced bigger obstacles than her bare breasts many times over. Ron would have been no problem at all; he had seen it all before. Seamus Finnigan probably would have come up with some off-colour remark, but she could have just hexed him later. Neville Longbottom would have been more embarrassed than her. The Weasley twins would tease her mercilessly for the rest of her natural life and it would probably give them ideas for a whole new line of jokes for their shop. But it might even be worth it to have the opportunity to surprise _them _for a change.

Teachers? She would hate for something to change her Professors' opinions of her... but yes, she would have preferred any of them to Malfoy. McGonagall was a woman, after all. Oh, she would have loved to see Trelawney try to pretend she had predicted _**that**_. Flitwick was probably too short to see over the fire grate. Dumbledore was dead, but even if he had been alive and firecalled her the worst that could happen would be an extra twinkle in his eye. Everyone knew that Dumbledore didn't swing her way. Alastor Moody was dead too, but Hermione felt she would have gotten off lightly with another lecture on "constant vigilance"...

Hell, even _Rita Skeeter _would have been better – providing she didn't have her photographer with her at the time.

And just while she was being _completely_ illogical, that creepy man from that construction site who had tried to pick her up last week would have been a more welcome caller (but that had been in Muggle London, so the chances of him successfully operating the Floo system were almost nil).

The point was that it would be awkward and embarrassing whoever was on the other end of the Floo, but that it had to be Draco Malfoy (_of all people, Draco Malfoy!_) just made it all that more painful.

Because, out of all of them, he alone would be the one who kept calling back.

* * *

_Just a bit of silliness for 'tis the season. __I'm envisaging this as a two shot - nothing big or groundbreaking. __Think of it as a Christmas present (and apology) for everyone who waited for goodness knows how long with my other story (and the newcomers too). Speaking of the other story... New chapter up soon! Well, a continuation of the last (hopelessly short) chapter, really. I know I'm bad, but I'm **trying **__to change, ok?  
_

_I promise to be good, Santa, **PROMISE**!_


	2. Try Try Again

**Your Call Could not be Connected**

* * *

Draco's head appeared in the fireplace again only two days after his first unexpected visit.

That first call was still fresh in Hermione's mind, and she hadn't been able to so much as momentarily glance at the fire place without going red all over. And full body blushes didn't exactly help her forget…

She was sitting in her pyjamas, enjoying a rare lazy morning and fully engrossed by the crossword in the Daily Prophet (Hermione really only bought the newspaper for the weekly Wireless guide these days, the puzzles were just an added bonus), and so didn't notice his presence at first until a self-satisfied voice interrupted her pleasant Sunday bliss.

"I preferred what you had on last time."

There were things that Hermione really missed about the Muggle world – the ability to slam the phone down on unwanted callers being key among them.

"Go away, Malfoy"

"I don't think I shall, Hermione."

She really knew she shouldn't respond to the bait but, at the sound of him elongating every syllable into some sort of half-grotesque parody of her given name, Hermione had whipped her head up from the paper to glare at his disembodied head in the fire . There wasn't really much point in ignoring him when he knew he had her attention.

"Since when are we on first name terms, _Malfoy_?"

"I've seen you naked. How are first names too personal in the face of body parts?"

_Cheeky.__ Little. Prick._ She felt her cheeks burning, but her voice remained clipped and cool.

"'In the face of body parts'? That's a terribly worded statement."

"Yet apt, considering the vantage point of most fire places."

"Furthermore," Hermione refused to get side-tacked by his depravity at that moment. "I can assure you that any intimacy you inferred was confined to your dark, deluded little brain."

"You have no idea what my brain gets up to, Hermione."

"Well…" There was a slight pause while she decided whether or not to respond to his insinuation. "If you don't mind then, I'll still call you Malfoy."

"But I do mind. Call me Draco, would you? I can take my clothes off if that makes it easier for you…"

His laughing face faded just before a tea cup smashed into the back of the fireplace right where, moments before, his head had been. Hermione sat there for several minutes, her cheeks flaming, feeling rather foolish for letting him get the best of her.

Next time, Hermione decided, she would simply duck behind the nearest piece of furniture and ignore him until he became bored and left.

She sighed, it was time to redecorate.

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/\/\/\/\

--------

Unfortunately, Draco was not the kind to be fooled by a ploy as simple as hiding behind the couch for long.

Instead, he seemed to take particular pleasure in regularly fire calling her home trying to catch Hermione before she could lunge behind any of her newly acquired lounge chairs or decorative pieces. Her other strategy of diving to the ground and crawling out of the room on her stomach was similarly unsuccessful. It was unlikely that Draco would ever take her refusal to talk to him lying down, unlike Hermione, who had been spending a lot of time crouched behind furniture or face down on the floor.

Draco had taken to reciting erotic poetry in a magically amplified voice through the Floo when he did not receive a reply to his calls. She could hear him, and his suggestive verses, from anywhere in her flat.

Her only recourse was to spend as little time at home as possible.

Labour laws were a little sketchy in the Magical world, and despite her feelings about the subject where it concerned House Elves, on this occasion Hermione was thankful for the laxity. Certainly, the Ministry had no complaints about Hermione's overtime work. Her department's productivity was up 21% since Hermione had started working a 15 hour day and putting in unpaid hours on weekends.

"What have you got on underneath those office-drudge robes?"

There was a loud clatter as Hermione knocked over her inkwell and a large stack of parchment in surprise.

"Do you go all repressed librarian at the office to balance the free spirit at home or is there no restraining the exhibitionist within?"

She probably would have requested an office without a private Floo extension if it wasn't absolutely vital for her role.

"I'm at work, Malfoy! This is harassment."

"I'm not wearing any clothes now. You have to call me Draco."

"At the moment you're just a floating head. I can call you what I want."

"I suppose we can bond over a shared proclivity for nudity whatever pet names you cadecode on. I'd offer to prove it to you, but I figured it could be quite embarrassing if you had some junior staffers in your office and something else came through the Floo."

"Embarrassing for you or me? Concerned you won't measure up?"

She was gratified to note two spots high on his cheeks shining suspiciously brighter in the firelight. _Score one for Hermione "The Repressed Librarian" Granger._

But Malfoy's insufferable grin returned all too soon.

"Speaking of measuring, would you say that your left breast is larger than your right, because I could have sworn –"

"Oh, I'm sorry – I didn't – I'll just be… going." The door to Hermione's office closed behind a rather flustered-looking colleague.

Barely resisting the urge to pound her head against the table, Hermione couldn't entirely suppress a groan. "Look what you did! You can't begin to… Argh! _Why_?"

"If you can't stand the heat get out of the Floo."

"_You_ get out! I have work to do... and now there's probably some office rumour to deny."

"All this denial surely isn't good for you. Why reject something we both know you really want?"

"I'm sure you have other people to annoy."

"You before all others, my dear Hermione."

But he left all the same.

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/\/\/\/\

--------

"I saw you at the Ministry Ball the other night. I wanted to come over and say something, but I find that I rather prefer these little fireside chats. It's feels cozy and familar, not to mention it's virtually impossible for you to slap me here… You looked quite nice."

"What, that's all?"

She hadn't meant to egg him on. It was just that this remark went against the pattern they had easily fallen into: He made some depraved comment, she challenged it (or told him to piss off) and a conversation of sorts followed from there. It wasn't her fault that she expected him to bring everything back to nudity or sex. It came down to plain old repeat conditioning. Like Pavlov's dog; Draco pushed a button and she started salivating_…_

Wait… that sounded wrong.

"Well, maybe better than just nice. Lovely, beautiful, gorgeous, resplendent, heavenly… alluring, seductive, tempting, sexy–"

"I think I'll stop you there before you exhaust your vocabulary."

"I feel that I must voice one small complaint, though."

"Oh? Do go on."

"What is it with you lot and this red and gold fetish? Are you all yet to discover the rest of the colours of the spectrum? But you Gryffindors were always such a _prideful_ House."

"You continue to surprise me. I was worrying about you taxing your intelligence over synonyms and here you are making puns."

"Yes. Add 'sense of humour' to 'rich, handsome and persistent' on my ever-growing list of attributes. Lions, pride… very clever, if I do say so myself. 'Intelligent' too; we could be here all night. I should have known you would pick up on the Gryffindor reference. I suppose I'm just too used to trading insults with Potter and Weasley. Those two never did appreciate subtlety."

"And see... We've reached the end of your list already! Subtlety isn't exactly your strong suit either. You have been rather blatantly suggesting that I do away with clothing altogether for the past three weeks. I seem to recall numerous comments about how I would improve my appearance and the general décor of my home and office if only I were to sit around in the nude."

"You undoubtedly would. However, while I quite like your state of undress when it's for my eyes only, I'm just not sure I would appreciate it in a room full of dirty, pervy old men."

"Ah ah ah! People in glass houses, Mr Malfoy."

"Nonsense. For the sake of argument you can get away with dirty and pervy but I, for one, am in the very prime of my life... yet what a parody of life it is! My most simple pleasures have been ruined by your insistence on keeping your exquisiteness under wraps."

"I would suggest you enjoy what little is on offer while you can. You're begging me to cut short your truly unfortunate existence with every Floo call you make."

"Hmm, you have the begging part right. Grant a condemned man his last wish?"

"What are the chances it's for a cigarette and lobster thermidor?"

His grin was practically feral, "Slim to none."

--------

/\/\/\/\

--------

He had been calling everyday for the past few weeks. Sometimes more than once.

Ordinarily, Hermione would have closed off her floo connection until Malfoy got the picture, or complained to the proper authorities and had some sort of restraining order taken out. But she hadn't and she really wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because she was tired of being the up-tight one... perhaps on some level she actually enjoyed the attention, or liked having someone notice that she was more than just a brain… perhaps Draco Malfoy wasn't the only perverted one?

But Malfoy had not called at all that day. She had taken several calls at both home and at work from other people, so she wasn't even tempted to check that her fireplace was still connected. Maybe he had got the picture… or he had grown bored of her… or he had found another–

Perhaps she should stop analysing this situation before she really started to dislike herself.

Hermione's increasingly worrisome thought process was interrupted by the slightly tinny sound her mobile phone ringing. Even as she rushed to the narrow hallway where she had dumped her bag on returning home, she knew that she wouldn't answer it in time. Her phone was invariably somewhere in the bottom of her bag obscured by a scarf (in case the weather was colder than the forecast temperature), a book (if she decided to catch the bus rather than apparate), spare pieces of parchment (in case she thought of something and remembered to write it down so she wouldn't forget), pens and quills, her keys, wallet, spare change that had escaped her wallet, her water bottle and an assortment of cosmetics she hardly ever used. No doubt she would search around for it, fail to find anything by feel alone, dump everything out of her bag and on to the table, only to pick up the phone out of the mess and to have it fall silent. That was the usual chain of events, anyway.

Sure enough, her phone stopped ringing just as she located it. Then, just before Hermione dumped her phone back into the black hole of her bag in frustration and went to pour herself a much deserved larger-than-usual glass of wine, her ring tone started up again.

Whoever was calling her was persistent…

"Hello? Hermione Granger speaking."

"Hello, Hermione Granger."

"Hello?"

"It's Draco Malfoy calling."

"Draco Malfoy?!"

"Yes?"

"This is a Muggle phone!"

"Thank you, I'm well aware of that."

"You're _Draco Malfoy_… and this a _Muggle_ phone!"

"No, this isn't any good – you're repeating yourself and I can't see anything. I get more of a peep show when you're hiding behind that blasted couch."

"How did you get this number?"

"Are you blushing?"

"Forget _how_ you got the number, _who_ did you get to show you how to use a Muggle phone?"

"You're smiling, aren't you?"

The question just made her imagine the smile on _his_ face, "It's a grimace."

"It's sexy."

She swung around to examine her reflection in the hallway mirror. "You can't see anything. It looks dreadful."

"I have a very active imagination."

"You're perverted."

"Possibly. Right now I'm imagining you have a mole on the underside of your-"

Hermione hit the disconnect button. She sighed.

Her phone started ringing again.

This was getting ridiculous – disconnecting the floo obviously wouldn't stop him…

"Hello?"

"Not the disfiguring sort of mole, but the cute kind of mole. The sexy almost-a-freckle type. It sits just above the curve on the underside of your right-"

She had been smiling the whole conversation, but truthfully it was only then that Hermione blushed.

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/\/\/\/\

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"Just a peek? Flash a little bit of thigh… no? A shoulder? An ankle?"

"Not going to happen."

"I'll tell you what, I'll even settle for just a hand, so long as you put on a pair of gloves and perform a Rita Hayworth-style striptease."

"_Gilda_? That's a classic!" Hermione spluttered in astonishment. "First phones, now movies… admit it, you're a closet Muggle-lover, aren't you?"

"Let's not go too far – Muggle_born_-lover."

There was a brief silence.

"I'm going to ignore that."

"While you still can. One of these days you'll wake up and realise I'm the best thing in your life and you'll throw your clothes into the air in a fit of celebration and gratitude!"

"Merlin, how do you walk with an ego as big as yours?"

A half suppressed laugh came through the Floo. "I see I'm not the only one gifted with the art of suggestion."

Hermione's cheeks flamed. "No. No! I meant to say 'walk through doorways' – I mean you have a big head, and not… anything else."

"That's one heck of a Fraud Ian slip, or whoever that famous Muggle was. I can't think why he's so popular, sounded like a bit of a degenerate if you ask me… and there will be no remarks about pots and kettles from you, thank you very much."

"No fair! You deny me one of my greatest pleasures."

"As do you, each and every day." He gave a long sigh. "I call and you're already dressed."

She tapped her finger against her chin, as if in deep thought. "I always thought your fascination with Death Eaters was all part of a perverted Oedipal complex. Take that for sexual deviancy!"

A look of delicate disgust passed over his features. "Give me some credit. My politics may have been a bit skewed for a while back there, but I do have better taste in women than my father."

It was all a bit strange to think about; a friendly game of verbal one-upmanship with Draco Malfoy where they were both comfortable enough to make jokes about the war. No matter what you had seen and heard, Hermione marvelled, sometimes the twists, turns and great leaps of life still had the ability to catch you unawares.

Her only response was a rather badly disguised cough, "Pansy Parkinson"

The face in the fire raised an eyebrow.

"Do you really want to put yourself in the same boat as Parkinson?"

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/\/\/\/\

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"Happy one month anniversary!"

"Malfoy, you remembered!"

She hadn't exactly forgotten, but then again she hadn't really remembered either.

Hermione Granger was no Lady Godiva, her display of nudity was not quite so public, political or historically relevant and hence it was not an occasion to mark down on anyone's calendar. Clearly, Draco Malfoy was the exception.

"Of course. You might even say that the date is permanently imprinted in my memory. A few other things as well..." he grinned lasciviously. "I got you a present."

"You didn't?"

"I did. I assumed you wouldn't," Hermione actually felt guilty for a moment, before she remembered it wasn't a _real _anniversary, "so I went ahead and made sure it was something we could both enjoy."

"This sounds omimous"

"Dinner. Thursday night. Seven."

"…No."

"Friday, then. I have to admit it suits me better. We can sleep in on Saturday."

"I don't think so."

"Well, I won't go on Wednesday. That's pity-date night."

"I'm not going on a date with you, Draco."

Neither spoke for several moments.

Finally, he laughed uneasily.

"I'm not sure whether to be crushed at your refusal, or overjoyed that you've given up that silly 'Malfoy' habit," he cleared his throat. "Come to dinner with me on Friday."

There was another pause.

"I'll go on _one_ date with you, if you promise never to call me again afterwards."

"I thought women got angry when you did that? Now I'm getting requests…" Draco shook his head, a sort of 'can't live with them, can't live without them' expression on his face. "I refuse to promise you that. How else would I arrange our second date?"

"You're incorrigible."

"Not to mention our third date, if you keep ruling out different forms of communication. I think the word you're looking for is _adorable_."

"The word I'm looking for doesn't exist outside the realm of speculation and conjecture… It won't work, Draco."

"I went to a lot of trouble getting through to your Floo and working out how to use that phone thing."

"So I owe you for the pleasure of continual harrassment?"

"I'm encouragible and you encouraged me."

"Encouragible isn't a real word."

"My point remains valid."

"As does mine - it won't work."

"Nothing ever does if you don't try."

"It won't work _between us_."

"Why ever not?"

"You have to ask?"

"Look at it logically," Draco stated matter-of-factly. "The natural progression of a relationship goes something like, courting-honeymoon-comfortable routine-tedium-petty sniping, followed by mutual loathing and animosity. If you think about it we've gone through most of that already, we just reversed the accepted sequence, so it should all end happily. I figure we're in a comfortable routine now so _logically,_" his straight face broke into a smile, "we only have the honeymoon and courting to go."

Hermione sighed softly. "Logic was always my weak spot."

"It would be un-Slytherinly of me to not exploit an advantage."

"Well, I suppose you did put a lot of effort into the Floo and phone… and I did encourage you, didn't I?"

"I would be quite happy to have an eighty year honeymoon period," was Draco's only answer, "and then woo you when I'm old and grey."

"Draco, your hair is already white," Hermione pointed out, knowing he wouldn't take offence.

"When I'm old then. I refuse to become wrinkly... Say yes, Hermione."

"Why me?" The words may have sounded petulant, but she meant the question genuinely.

"For every reason you can think of and a thousand more. Friday night. Say yes, Hermione."

"I'll think about it."

"You'll finally be able to satisfy your curiosity over how big my ego really is."

"You're _adorable_."

Draco grinned.

"Say yes."

"Maybe."

"Say yes."

"Perhaps."

Somehow, she wasn't sure how, his already cheek splittingly-wide grin grew wider.

"Say yes."

"Just as long as you know that I could go on for longer. I have a far larger vocabulary than you."

"Your vocabulary is without equal. Say yes."

"Yes."

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Hermione?"

"What?"

"I just like hearing you say it… Hermione?"

"Yes."

"Hermione?"

She rolled her eyes, "Draco?"

"Don't feel you have to dress up on account of me."

* * *

_A/N: There you go. A series of short, sharp, shiny scenes (silly too) AND batteries included! What a Christmas haul! Just a bit of frivolous fun..._

_Stay well this jolly holiday season and Happy New Year (let's bring on the next)!_


	3. Note

_Hello all. I've written a sequel of sorts. The first chapter is up now, with more to follow soon. There is a little teaser snippety extract below:_

Hermione Granger put a lot of thought into her wardrobe choice, just she put a lot of time and effort into almost every aspect of her life. "Meticulous" was one word that had been used sevaral times to describe her. The other words were decidedly less complimentary. Hermione knew she was far from meticulous, or any of those other words, because meticulous people didn't forget things like towels when they showered... Sure, she had only done that once, but it was one time too many. And surely, the very definition of meticulous excluded such glaring oversights as forgetting towels. Come to think of it, "pedantic" was one of those words she heard a lot of too.

Hermione Granger had a date.

To add to the 'first-first-date-in-years' nervousness, Hermione was faced with a dilemma. And this wasn't one of those easily solved, just go ask your friends for advice and reassurance, dilemmas. This was a never-speak-about-it-to-anyone-because-you-can't-help-but-cringe-even-now-not-to-mention everyone-will-judge-you-what-were-you-_thinking? _dilemma. This was a dilemma. This was... new:

What, exactly, to wear on a first date with a man who had already seen her naked?

_Enjoy!_


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